


Oral Communication

by fishingboatblues



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Deepthroating, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 09:38:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7635301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishingboatblues/pseuds/fishingboatblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several symbols and odd letters dotted the page and for the life of Ford he did not understand them, and even consulting his numerous books on the subject did no good; this was an entirely new cipher and one that looked rather complex upon further study.</p><p>As odd as it seemed there was only one person who could do this, one culprit with no alibi and enough free time to accomplish such a task; his brother Stanley. As ludicrous as it sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oral Communication

It had been a number of weeks since Stan and Ford had begun their nautical journey and at first things had been seemingly calm between the two of them. Ford had revelled in this new found peace, had rejoiced in their renewed connection; unluckily for Ford he had forgotten just how much of a prankster his brother was.

The first cipher showed up on the fridge door a week after their latest mishap, suffice to say after two days of staying up all night to decode an ancient cryptic tomb Ford had not paid much attention to it. He had barely even glanced at the piece of paper stuck innocuously to the fridge, via a star shaped magnet, an action he would soon come to regret.

When the note stayed there after another three days Ford grew suspicious. It wasn’t unusual that either of them would place to do lists on nearby surfaces, but Ford didn’t remember writing out anything in code and looking at the note that’s what he knew it to be in.

Several symbols and odd letters dotted the page and for the life of Ford he did not understand them, and even consulting his numerous books on the subject did no good; this was an entirely new cipher and one that looked rather complex upon further study.

As odd as it seemed there was only one person who could do this, one culprit with no alibi and enough free time to accomplish such a task; his brother Stanley. As ludicrous as it sounds.

“Why is there a cipher on our fridge, Stanley?” Is the first thing Ford manages to ask Stan after twenty minutes of consulting his books for information. He may not be able to translate the cipher, but that doesn’t mean he can’t figure out its meaning in other ways.

Stanley shrugs and places his fishing rod down; it’s not like he’d caught anything anyway. “Well, I tried taping it to your forehead, but anybody tell ya you punch in your sleep?”

Ford rolls his eyes, yes, he is aware of his more violent sleep tendencies; it’s the main reason why him and Stanley do their best to avoid sharing a bed these days…although Ford knows he himself has more than one reason to avoid such close physical contact with his twin. He doesn’t need any more temptation; Stan’s presence is more than enough in that regard.

“Don’t be obtuse, Stanley.” Ford replies, snippy from lack of sleep; the cipher may look inelegant but as much as Ford would like to deny it there is a charm to it, a charm that, to his bewilderment, has avoided his best attempts at deciphering it. “Why are there ciphers on our boat? I didn’t know you could write in code.”

Stanley laughs and turns until he’s looking up at Ford with a comically raised eyebrow. “ _Really_ , Sixer?” He questions incredulously. “I spent thirty years reading your damn journals! I didn’t twiddle my thumbs or nothing; you know how hard it is learnin’ code when ya don’t even have a high school diploma?”

At that Ford sighs to himself; as always he’s been missing the simple truth right in front of him. Of course Stanley had to learn code, if only to decipher Ford’s own cryptic writing, but still learning to read code is much easier than creating one’s own coded language.

“Very hard I would imagine.” Ford remarks simply. “More to the point; _why_ are you writing in code? Have you taken to documenting our encounters with the supernatural? If so I have a number of blank journals you could use, they are vastly more effective than simple post-it notes-”

Stan bursts out laughing, his stomach rising and falling rapidly. He slaps his hand across his knee and wipes tears from his eyes. “Oh that’s a good one, Poindexter! _Me_ , study the supernatural? Ain’t that just comedy gold!”

Ford frowns, if that isn’t Stan’s intention then _what_ is? Stan must sense his utter confusion for he shakes his head and levels him with a look that has Ford licking his lips and shifting where he stands.

Stan looks surprisingly serious, his eyes leaving a blazing trail across Ford’s face…he looks focused and intense. He looks like a man with everything to say, a man with so much to hide, but here he is hiding things in plain sight in a cipher Ford cannot begin to understand the meaning of.

Stanley’s voice lowers and he winks mischievously at him. “Hah, maybe I’m trying to tell ya somethin’, Sixer, you ever think of that?”

Ford blinks at that and does his best not to regard that as an outright flirtatious remark; he knows Stanley does not feel the same, that the only love his brother feels towards him is familial in nature. Stanley, however, is an undeniable tease and the ultimate definition of a subconscious flirt; he very rarely means it, even in regards to people who would be more than willing to spend a night with him.

“And here I thought we had agreed to better our communication skills with one another.” Ford says, his voice is more than a little goading. Trust Stan to make a promise and then find any excuse to avoid emotional vulnerability; Ford knows he is no better, however.

“You got me there, Sixer.” Stan replies with a nonchalant gesture of his hands. “But ya know if you really wanna give up on my cipher well…I wouldn’t blame you, Poindexter. It is pretty damn hard and you are a bit passed it now, a bit too _old_ for shit like that I guess-”

“Too old?” Stanford repeats incredulous, he feels insulted almost! In no way is he ‘past it’, he may be old but in no way is he too old for a simple decoding. “ _Too old_?! I assure you I am perfectly capable of deciphering whatever it is you have to say!”

Stanley smirks at him, all teeth as they both realise Stanley has Ford exactly where he wants him. Ford briefly considers backing down; there is no need for anymore petty competition between them, they’ve already had a lifetime of that after all, but Stanley’s next words leave little room for surrender.

Stanley’s grin gets wider and slowly he says, voice a heady whisper. “ _Prove. It.”_ And just like that a challenge is issued and Ford has no intention of losing this particular battle of wills.

* * *

He spends the next couple of nights hunched over the table, eyes scanning the page obsessively. He manages to isolate at least one or two potential vowels, but it’s not enough as to be certain. In the meantime, however, new notes begin to show up all around their living quarters and soon enough the boat is decorated head to toe with post it notes.

Ford hates it, hates how little progress he manages to make and _oh_ how he ever hates how much Stanley delights in his frustration. He loves his brother, but there is only so much smugness he can take from Stan without wanting to either punch some modesty into him, or kiss him until every word in his vocabulary no longer holds any meaning.

“Still hung up on my shit, Sixer? ‘thought you’d have given up on that by now, Ford.” Stan remarks upon seeing him crouched over Stan’s cryptic challenge.

Ford groans tiredly and looks up, he’s pleased to note the second coffee cup in Stan’s outstretched hand. He takes it from Stan and almost burns his tongue inhaling the godliest of all liquids.

Stan eyes him with concern and bites his lip. “Ya know it can wait, right? You don’t gotta lose sleep over my bullshit, Sixer, it’s not like it’s gonna disappear or anything; it’ll still be there if you go and get a little shut eye.”

Ford places down the coffee cup and shakes his head, determination burning in his eyes. “I don’t need to sleep.” He growls, but quickly regrets it. Yes, Stanley had created this as a test of Ford’s skills, but he hadn’t been forcing Ford to do anything he hadn’t wanted to. “Okay, perhaps I _do_ need to sleep, but I assure you once I’m well rested I will finish deciphering your code.”

Stan chuckles. “Sure, Poindexter, whatever ya say.”

True to his word Ford sleeps, what he doesn’t tell Stanley, however, is of the dreams he has as a result. But perhaps that is for the best as all his dreams revolve around his brother, of how he smiles, of how he laughs without fear of consequence. Perhaps it’s for the best that his brother does not know of the love letters that Ford’s subconscious brings to life merely by existing.

He wakes up five hours later to the sounds of multiple voices conversing. He frowns as he puts on his glasses and moves towards the cabin of the ship.

“Yeah.” He hears Stan’s voice begin. “He still hasn’t figured it out yet; he’s been running himself into the ground tryin’ to work it out, I kinda feel bad about it actually.”

Ford blinks and leans forward, head lingering in the doorway as he tries his best not to be spotted by his brother. Sitting there is Stan, a laptop in front of him and on it is their niece and nephew.

Mabel waves a dismissive hand. “It’ll all work out, Grunkle Stan, trust me!”

Dipper shrugs behind her and rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’d do as she says.” Dipper tells Stan with a smile. “Otherwise we’ll never hear the end of it when he finds out!”

Stan sighs, body language reading oddly as unsure. Ford has no idea what they mean about him ‘finding out’ but clearly it has Stanley feeling concerned, or perhaps uncertain is a better descriptor?

“I hope you’re right, kids, I don’t want Sixer jumping overboard, ya know?” Stan says, his voice is unusually wary as if just thinking about Ford’s potential reaction is terrifying enough.

Mabel laughs. “Well, you’d just have to jump in right after him! They do say there are plenty of fish in the sea!”

Ford blinks at her odd phrasing, confused as to her meaning. Whoever ‘they’ are they clearly only have a very basic understanding of the oceanic ecosystem, that’s for sure.

Both Dipper and Stan laugh at her words. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Grunkle Stan.” Dipper says, a sincere smile spread across his face. “Besides; it’s Great Uncle Ford! I think if anyone would understand he would!”

Stan shrugs and bites his lip uncertainly. “Yeah, I know, I know that. I’m just worried is all, I just don’t wanna fu- uh, _screw_ this up ya know?”

“We get it, Grunkle Stan, you just don’t want to lose him!”

Stan nods and rubs a hand through his overly long hair, the same hair that Stanley hates as much as Ford finds it attractive. “Yeah, not again, not after… _last time_.”

Ford feels a chill run down his spine at that... _last time_? By that Ford assumes he’s referring to their disastrous reunion as young men, and in truth Ford understands his concern even if he does not know what exactly it is that Stan is so worried about.

He listens in closer, but to his disappointment the next thing that he hears is not in fact an explanation of Stan’s odd behaviour but is instead a mumbled reply made almost deafening by the dwindling signal of their Wi-Fi.

“We gotta go, Grunkle Stan.” Mabel proclaims. “I’ve got a hot date with destiny-”

“She’s going to eat ice cream and cry about the newest Dream Boy High movie-” Dipper interrupts but a swift punch to the arm silences him. “-ouch! And yeah, we got to go; I have a test in the morning that I really need to study for!”

Stan nods and smiles softly at the kids, it’s the kind of smile Ford knows had once been his when they had been children. As jealous as Ford knows he should be he isn’t, if anyone deserves the sight of Stanley smiling it’s the twins and Ford knows this because, for all his cold nature would suggest otherwise, he loves them too.

“It was nice talking to ya, kids, and thanks for the pep talk I really needed it. I gotta go anyhow; Ford’ll be waking up soon and _somebody’s_ gotta force something down that man’s throat. The idiot keeps on forgetting to eat, stubborn old goat.”

The twins shake their heads disapprovingly before waving goodbye and ending the call, once they’re gone Stan immediately stops smiling, returning to the uncertainty of before. Ford frowns at the expression marring Stan’s face and he knows that _somehow_ he is the cause of it, knowing that fills Ford with worry and confusion.

Ford hasn’t done anything to upset him recently, he knows that! He’s been trying so hard to be a better brother, his immoral desires aside. But surely…Stan doesn’t know about that, right? He couldn’t, Ford may have not been as subtle as he could be but Stan had never been able to discern Ford’s romantic, or sexual, interest before. That couldn’t have possibly changed, at least not without some dramatic event as a catalyst and Ford knows no such event has occurred in recent memory.

Weirdmaggedon aside things have been calm, calmer than they’ve been for years in fact. Weirdmaggedon may have helped in repairing their relationship, but Ford knows it had not been enough to reveal Ford’s feelings for Stan; too much had been going on at the time for such a thing to have possibly have come to light. And besides Stan would’ve said something earlier had that been the case, his lack of filter would most assuredly have seen to that.

Stan stands up from his chair and Ford moves away from the door immediately. The last thing either of them needs right now is for Stan to know that Ford had been listening in on his, very private, conversation with their niece and nephew.

By the time Stan enters the room acting as their kitchen Ford is already sitting at the table, his eyes on Stan’s cipher once again.

* * *

His hard work eventually pays off when two days later he translates the first cipher, the one he had found on the fridge all those days ago. He almost tears up the bothersome piece of paper when the cipher decodes into _‘you really should eat more.’_

Of course Stanley would write a cipher for the express purpose of chiding him for his lack of self-care…whilst having inevitably caused an increase in said lack of self-care. It was just such a _Stanley_ way of doing things, well-meaning but ultimately more inconvenient than anything.

After the first cipher things begin to progress much quicker and Ford quickly begins to decode many of Stan’s impromptu notes.

The one he found on his handheld mirror reads as _‘who’s that handsome devil looking back at me?’_ and the one that had previously been stuck to the bottom of his well-worn shoe translates to _‘well, there goes your sole!’_ and the codes continue on in this fashion. Some being generally well meaning comments, others being puns and terrible one liners that have Ford groaning out of frustration.

He finds the last cipher purely by accident. In fact, it’s more a stroke of fate that he even discovers it in the first place; or more precisely a brief increase in wind strength. As if by divine intervention a gust of wind bursts through the gap in the window and scatters the pages, Stanford groans at the inconvenience but despite himself he’s bending down to pick them up and that is when he sees _it._

Together the pages line up in such a way that brings an entirely new meaning to this otherwise inconsequential hunt, brings a new kind of understanding to Ford’s shaken mind. Staring him right in the face is…a declaration of _love_.

In Stan’s hand writing, in a painstakingly written cipher created by his own brother, are the words _‘I’ve been in love with you since we were teens’_ and when Ford searches for any other hidden messages he quickly uncovers more of his brother’s…romantic longing, as odd as it is to come to terms with.

The messages that hit him hardest are the ones that best explain Stan’s earlier concern _. ‘Do ya love me back?’_ and _‘please don’t hate me, Sixer, if ya don’t.’_

When Stanford next looks up it’s to the sight of his twin awkwardly standing over him, a nervous expression written across his usually calm face. “Sixer…” He greets, voice low and hesitant as he rubs a clammy hand through his hair. “I, uh, see ya finally figured out my code, huh?”

A lump forms in Ford’s throat and he can barely hear anything over the sound of his own heavy breathing. Stanley has…feelings for _him_? It can’t be true, yet the proof is staring him right in the face and his brother doesn’t appear to be joking.

“Stanley…you, you’re…attracted to me?” Ford questions, caution lacing every word. For the majority of his life Ford has been attracted to his brother, for over forty years he’s been harbouring this immoral love with no hope of ever having his feelings requited…and yet here his brother stands, admitting to having loved him for about the same amount of time as Stanford has loved him.

What kind of idiotic fools are they? All this time, all this time they had felt the same and yet all they had done was waste each passing moment given to them, burying themselves in denial or anger, anything to run away from the reality of their feelings. Or at least Stanford had in any case.

Stanley nods, a wistful, but self-deprecating, smile decorating his face. “I’ve been hot for ya since Crampelter threw that soda on ya and you had to walk around the beach without a shirt on during winter. Goddamn I can remember so fuckin’ clear how hard your nipples got; not gonna lie, Sixer, that was an image for the spank bank for at least a couple of years.”

“But that was back when we were fifteen, Stanley! That’s longer than even _I_ ’ _ve_ wanted you!”

Stan shrugs whilst Ford looks positively aghast, but Stan’s expression quickly changes before Ford has enough time to lament this new piece of information, and all the missed opportunities that the two of them have had as a result of their notoriously poor communication skills. Stan’s face is now the picture of curiosity and indecision; Ford can practically hear the questions rattling around inside of his twin’s head.

“I kinda got the feelin’ you had feelings for me, Sixer. By the way ya should really watch what you say around Dipper; that kid’s got some ESP like shit when it comes to gay crap, totally pegged you for queer let me tell ya! The kid told me you were talking shit about me and then poof one second ya were callin’ me a knucklehead next you were waxing all poetic about my ‘reckless, but passionate’ soul.” He pauses and laughs nervously to himself. “So, uh, yeah. How long ya been hot for _me_ , Sixer? I’m not tryin’ to yank your chain anything, but I gotta know, you know?”

Ford sighs and fidgets with his hands, rubbing the extra digits as if _somehow_ they’ll bring him luck for once in his life. He knows logically that he shouldn’t be afraid of Stan’s reaction, rejection is unlikely Ford knows that, but still Ford feels this instinctual fear and after years of hiding his feelings and denying them it’s become almost as natural to him as breathing.

Ford takes a deep breath and readies himself. “Since we were sixteen I believe? We were almost seventeen and senior prom was on the horizon and I didn’t know how to talk to girls-”

“And so ya asked me to teach you how to woo a gal, I remember, Sixer. You were so fucking cute too, all red faced and shy as heck; fuck I wanted to tell ya so bad that you didn’t need to take some girl to the prom, that you could just take me.” Stanley interrupts, his tone nostalgic as he too recalls that night.

Ford’s face reddens despite his wishes and he coughs into his fist. “Yes, I did. And whilst your advice was… _dubious_ at best the way you teased me, the way you flirted with me whilst pretending to be Angie McCorkle…it was an, uh, _enlightening_ experience.”

“Meaning you totally jerked off in the shower afterwards.”

“Stanley!” Ford exclaims, startled by Stan’s ever present lack of tact although they both know he should be used to it by now.

Stan chuckles, any discomfort he had before easing and evaporating before them at Ford’s admission. “I’m not hearin’ a ‘no’ there, Sixer.”

“I, ah, _might have_ indulged myself to the memory on occasion.”

Stan’s permanent grin grows wider and dirtier at Ford’s words and he leans forward and wraps an arm around Ford’s squared shoulders. His mouth brushes the rim of Ford’s ear as he begins to speak. “You ever jerk it to my dirty laundry, Poindexter?  Ya ever make my fuckin’ tighty whities, hah, _whiter?_ You can tell me, bro, you know I ain’t going to judge, _much_.”

Ford’s eyes widen beyond all measure and his ears heat up at the feeling of Stan’s warm breathing blowing over them. “S-stanley that’s _obscene_!”

“Obscene?” Stanley questions with a wiggle of his eyebrows that Ford can feel against the skin of his cheek. “Ya know what’s _obscene_ , Sixer? You pinnin’ me down when you first got outta the portal, would’ve popped a stiffy if the kids hadn’t been there. _Just saying_.”

Oh, _oh_! Knowing Stan’s attracted to him is one thing, but hearing him talk like that is different somehow, heady in a way Stanford can’t quite describe. Ford turns his head to face Stan and finds himself eye to eye, ear to ear and as close as can be with the mouth that has haunted his dreams for decades.

Before he can talk himself out of it he leans forward and brushes his lips against Stanley’s. It’s barely a kiss, but Stanley groans as if someone has electrocuted him, groans as if he’s been waiting for this moment all his life and, knowing what Ford does now, he knows that’s an undeniable truth.

Stanley takes his bottom lip in between his teeth and Ford feels a shiver run down his spine, his hands come up to grasp at Stanley’s arms and before either of them know it Stan is cupping Ford’s cheek and is making love to Ford’s mouth. His tongue is rubbing against Ford’s in a filthy dance, one that has Ford gripping Stan’s arms hard enough to leave bruises, but Stan doesn’t seem to mind as he growls into the kiss and seems to almost lean into Ford’s bruising touch.

Not to be out done Ford sucks rhythmically at Stan’s tongue, his sucks come in pulses that have Stanley groping at his clothes desperate for any piece of him that he can get.

Ford breaks away from him, his heart beating erratically as he rests his head on Stanley’s collarbone. His breathing comes to him in pants and barely cut off groans as he tries to resist the urge to bite at Stan’s revealed neck. “We probably shouldn’t be doing this in the kitchen.”

“I don’t know about that, Sixer, ‘depends on whether or not we eat each other out.” Is Stan’s only reply and his words send warmth rushing to Ford’s groin as he imagines exactly that.  He imagines Stan on his knees, his hands slivering under his clothes as they divest him of his defences, as they trail goose bumps up his skin.

He can practically picture Stan taking his cock into his mouth, he can practically feel the phantom touch of a smirk resting against the base of his member. Stan has always had a smart mouth and Ford’s body is curious, _eager_ , to test this theory, to prove that Stan’s mouth is useful for more than cheesy puns and one liners, is useful for _more_ than just lying.

Another thought pops into his head, however, this time it’s _him_ on his knees for Stanley. His hands caressing Stan’s skin, his teeth biting at Stanley’s nipples as he works his way down until he finally reaches his destination. Stanley may have drove him insane this past week with cryptic messages, but they had been done with romantic intent and they are the reason any of this was happening at all.

Stanley deserves to be loved, to be _worshiped_ by Ford; he had taken him for granted for all those years and even now he still finds himself disregarding his brother despite his own best efforts. A few weeks of isolation from the world and of close companionship with his brother cannot, _will not_ , erase years of almost one-sided devotion.

Ford knows that he never stopped loving Stan, even in his moments of blinding fury and outright venomous acts of disdain he had still loved him, and had hated himself for every moment of furtive longing for a brother that he believed to have betrayed him. 

Now? He knows better; what Stanley did had been an accident, a horrible and irresponsible accident, but he had never meant to cause Ford any pain. Nor had he meant to ruin his chances with West Coast Tech. Stanley had merely been a stupid, reckless, _impulsive_ teen too afraid to tell Ford of his angry outburst at Ford’s perpetual motion machine in the fear that he would lose Ford forever.

And knowing what Ford does now about Stanley’s feelings towards him? He understands that fear; it’s the same fear that he’s been housing inside of his chest for years, it’s a tenant that has resided inside his own heart for decades, poisoning him ever so slowly. He’s glad to finally be rid of it, to finally have his heart open for occupancy again, and this time? There is nothing standing in their way, nothing to stop Stan from taking his rightful place inside of Ford’s chest.

Stanley gives him an odd look and Ford realises he must have been silent for too long, pondering over things better left for later. He coughs into his fist and does his best to project an aura of authority.

Before Stanley can question Ford’s change of expression Ford is standing up and grabbing him, kissing him hard enough to give him whiplash. Manoeuvring Stanley is a challenge unto itself, but it’s a challenge that Ford takes in his stride as he turns Stan towards the table. Stan doesn’t seem to notice Ford’s plans until a six fingered hand is sweeping across the table, sending everything on it flying to the floor.

The ciphers are fluttering around them, airborne and elegant as they fall at their feet at the exact same time Stanley’s trousers do.  Stanley barely has enough time to shimmy out of them before Ford is pushing him against the wooden surface, before Ford is manhandling him to climb on and sit at the edge.

“Sixer.” Stanley hisses as a grabby hand is palming at his boxers. “ _What_ are ya doing?”

Ford laughs, voice husky and wrecked as his hand grips Stanley’s length through the fabric. “I think you’ll find I’m deciphering my next mystery, Stanley.”

Stanley bites his bottom lip and gives a small abortive thrust into his brother’s grip, his hand gripping the edge of the table with enough force to turn his knuckles white. “Oh, yeah? And what’s that, Sixer?”

“How you taste at the brink of orgasm.”

All Ford sees before kneeling down until he’s eye level with Stan’s crotch is his brother helpless wide eyed gaze, and the blush that had spread across his cheeks in reply to Ford’s crude declaration.

“W-woah, Ford, slow down will ya! Don’t want you putting your back out-”

Ford looks up at him through his lashes, his hand reaching through the waistband of Stan’s boxers. He frowns at him. “I think we’ve waited long enough for this; if I go any slower it will be another decade before I get you like this again, before I get you aching for my touch, and I doubt either of us wants _that_.”

Stanley opens his mouth to reply, but whatever sass he had resting on the tip of his tongue turns into a drawn out moan as Ford takes that moment to force Stanley’s member past his awaiting lips.

“F-fuck!” Ford hears Stanley exclaim as Ford hollows out his cheeks and sucks sloppily at the head.  He can feel Stan hardening in his mouth, can feel Stan growing wet on the tip of his tongue and he finds himself chasing that taste, his tongue prodding at Stanley’s slit.

He holds Stan’s cock inside of his mouth, taking a moment to revel in how the velvety texture feels against his tongue, how it feels pressing against the inside of his cheek. He sucks harder and he can feel Stanley jerking his hips in an attempt to slide further inside of Ford, but when Stan realises his body’s involuntary movements he halts in his pleasure and steels himself, forcing himself not to take the bliss that is being so readily offered to him. Clearly Stan is too afraid to take what he truly desires; and so Ford does it for him.

Ford’s hands reach out, moving upwards one grasps at Stan’s callipygous posterior and the other clutches strongly at one of Stan’s meaty thighs and with a powerful tug he’s pushing Stan’s hips forward, making Stan fuck his mouth. It doesn’t take much of Ford’s instruction before Stan is thrusting between his lips without even a hint of hesitation.

Moisture beads in Ford’s eyes as Stan really begins to thrust, as his dick causes his cheek to bulge, as Stanley’s cock brushes against the back of his throat. They both groan at that and Ford feels his own neglected cock twitch at the sensation of Stanley using him for his own pleasure.

 “Fuck, Sixer, didn’t know you could do this.” Stan groans in between pants and Ford has to restrain one as well when a pair of calloused hands work their way into his hair, impaling him further on Stanley’s length. “A heckuva lot of our fights would’ve ended _differently_ if I had.”

Ford moans and can’t help but to push one of his hands down and work it into his own trousers.

“Yeah, Ford, jerk yourself off as I fuck your tight throat!” Stan yells, his dick buried deep inside Ford’s wet cavern as he uses his grip on Ford’s locks to ram himself repeatedly inside. “Come on, Sixer, I wanna feel you fuckin’ _moaning_ around me, I wanna feel ya choking on my _cock_.”

At this point Ford is practically drooling around Stan. Ford has always been of a mind that pleasuring someone else would be…not boring per-se, but an irrelevant and dull experience as opposed to being on the receiving end of such pleasure.  He’d never thought he would enjoy having his mouth filled to the brim, he’d never even considered the fact that he would be leaking pre-come at the sensation of Stan abusing his constricting throat.

In any other of situation Ford would have blamed the lack of oxygen for his crude train of thought, but he had been fantasizing about this exact scenario before Stan had so kindly taken to marking his mouth with Stan’s slick pre-ejaculate, before he had so kindly rammed Ford’s mouth on to his twitching member.

Ford takes a few deep breaths through his nose before sucking harshly and running his tongue down against the veins of his brother’s cock. Stanley grunts and leaks a little more, his balls brush against Ford’s chin as Ford’s tongue chases the taste of him, as Ford’s tongue jabs relentlessly as Stan’s slit.

Ford hisses as he rubs a sweaty thumb against the crown of his own member, it drools at his touch and he knows if he looked down it would already be turning as red as the blush on his face.

“Fuck yeah, do it, Sixer.” Stan encourages as he pinches his own nipple roughly. “Come all over your sexy fuckin’ hands, I wanna see ya do it, Ford.”

At Stan’s words Ford buries his face in Stan’s crotch, his nose brushing against Stan’s pubic hair as he takes all of his brother into his mouth. One hand is still working his own shaft, but the other makes its way down until his index finger is rubbing at Stan’s hole, teasing him with a rougher touch, teasing him with the promise of a future fucking.

When Ford finally slides a dry finger inside of his brother Stan’s hips twitch hard enough to give Ford whiplash, the movement nudges Stan further inside and the tip of his cock almost brushes against Ford’s uvula. Seconds later when Ford’s finger curls just right in his pursuit of Stan’s prostate Stan comes with a grunt loud enough to alert the local coast guard.

Stan jerks his hips a few more times as he ejaculates and Ford sucks him, milks him of his release, not wasting a drop of him as he swallows his brother down. A couple of seconds later Stan pulls out of Ford’s sore throat and his hands are already dragging Ford up to towards him.

He grabs his brother by the chin and Ford melts into the mind numbing kiss that Stanley lays on him, and for a second Ford wonders if Stan can taste himself in Ford’s mouth; he wonders if Stanley likes it, if he tastes himself during his own masturbation sessions. It’s something to consider for another day, Ford realises as he feels a hand wrap itself around his own erection.

“Gonna make you come, Ford. Gonna make ya come _harder_ than ya ever have before.”

Ford laughs, even with his synapses firing faster than a speeding bullet he knows cheesy porn dialogue when he hears it, coming from anyone other than Stanley it would’ve turned him off. But presently? His words have Ford gasping against him, his legs shaking and his hips propelling forward as his cock fucks Stan’s fist.

Stan’s head moves forward, his mouth tracing the naked expanse of Ford’s neck and Ford comes when a pair of blunted teeth bare down on him, when a calloused, scarred, hand twists atop Ford’s glans.

His ejaculate comes out in long spurts that leave him gasping, and then laughing as Ford notices where exactly his ejaculate has landed; there staining the pages of Stan’s ciphers is evidence of their coupling. Stan’s eyes follow Ford’s and he nearly chokes on a laugh that has him heaving hysterically.

It takes almost three minutes for them to calm down from both their laughter and their love making, although Ford would hardly call something as dirty as that ‘love making’ precisely. They disentangle themselves and Stanley hops off of the table looking more than a little sheepish.

Stan claps a hearty hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Sixer, ya blew my goddamn _mind_!”

Ford’s jaw is most assuredly aching but Ford leans into Stan’s touch, tired but satisfied as he chuckles. “ _That_ was the idea, yes.” He pauses, his brows furrowing as he places his hands nervously behind his back. He realises instead of fully talking through their feelings they had managed to get distracted by the lure of sexual gratification. He would curse his own treacherous body, but even he isn’t arrogant enough to deny that even his brain had been in agreement with this course of action.

“I never quite understood the appeal before, getting down on one’s knees always seemed rather…degrading to me if I’m honest. But, ah, whilst it was a little humbling…I found having you use my mouth to be very educational.”

Stan rolls his eyes at Ford’s wording, probably at his overly formal phrasing. Perhaps someday Ford will stop having the social capacity of one of Arthur Dent’s infamous towels. “Well, Sixer, if ya ever want another lesson you know where to find me.” Stan replies with an embarrassingly suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

Despite himself Stanford cannot help but to laugh at Stan’s remark. His expression quickly changes when he looks Stan up and down, he is no way an instinctual flirt but with the right company some things come more natural than others. “Perhaps even _I_ could teach you a thing or two, Stanley, there’s very little you know about my…travels through the multiverse after all.”

“Ugh.” Stan groans in response. “Don’t say shit like that Ford, I’m too fuckin’ tired to get hard again.”

Ford chuckles as he brushes his jacket down and does his best avoid the discarded ciphers around them. “Another time, perhaps.”

Stan grins and points a finger at Ford’s chest. “I’mma hold ya to that, Sixer.”

Ford smiles at Stanley, his gaze soft as he realises that, yes, there will be a next time. Ford had never expected for there to be a first time, but for once Ford is happy to have been proven wrong. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Stanley.”


End file.
